


Bet the World You Don't Know

by surefireshore



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Doctor Combeferre, Doctor Joly, Feelings, Flashbacks, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Heist, M/M, POV Alternating, Rivals to Lovers, guys i did so much research on viruses, hacker eponine, hypocrite combeferre, pacifist combeferre, the medical system and governments are also fucked up in space, well discussions really because none of the characters we speak to are sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24024727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surefireshore/pseuds/surefireshore
Summary: The last time they spoke, Combeferre was training to become a doctor with the Milky Way Republic and Courfeyrac was the fiery university student doing his best to make a difference. Now, nearly 20 years later, notorious outlaw Courfeyrac and the crew of theMoonshinehave reached out to Combeferre and theGracefor assistance with a job. The two men will have to work through their ideological differences and complicated history to pull it off.aka The Space Heist AUSee content warnings in notes at the beginning.
Relationships: Combeferre & Enjolras (Les Misérables), Combeferre & Feuilly (Les Misérables), Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Implied JBM
Comments: 20
Kudos: 20
Collections: Les Mis Big Bang: Quarantine Edition





	1. Homo et Vir

**Author's Note:**

> A huge shoutout and thank you to my assigned beta and Absolute Gem of a Person [PrincessCipher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessCipher), and an additional shoutout & thank you to [muse_in_absentia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse_in_absentia) for the additional beta-ing!
> 
> Content Warnings for: Discussions of viral disease similar to yellow fever & dengue fever. For those concerned, I'll give start and end points for these discussions. Though it is a virus, I did my best to keep the illness in this fic and its discussed symptoms discussed from COVID19 as I could. I'll put details in the chapter notes.  
> Also, allusions to sexual activity from Canon Ho Courfeyrac and capitalist space governments doing shitty capitalist space government things.
> 
> My first multi-chapter fic wow. I hope you guys enjoy :)

#### 38 Days Out

Courfeyrac had picked the venue for the meeting and the perfect place to wait in the shadows until his contact arrives. It’s a bar on the 6th level, right on the border between the respectable portion of the space station and the questionable one. He trusts the owner, a long-time friend of Musichetta’s, not to call the police if there’s a disturbance. He also trusts Eponine’s ability to ensure that their own ship has docking permissions in the closest hangar and that their potential new friends’ ship must be docked on the farthest side of the station.

At precisely 18:03, as promised, a dark figure with blonde hair and a white sweater walks into the bar.

Courfeyrac hadn’t expected the blonde hair. When he knew Combeferre in their youth, he never seemed the kind to bleach his hair, but Courfeyrac shrugged it off. People change, and the two of them had never really been that close.

Most importantly, he enters alone with no visible weaponry. Courfeyrac lets out a low whistle and locks eyes with the man across the room. Hazel. That’s surprising. As much as their personalities had clashed, Courfeyrac would never have denied how enchanting Combeferre’s deep brown eyes had been.

But it has been a lifetime since they last saw each other—even since they last spoke—and Courfeyrac supposes he could be remembering incorrectly. Nonetheless, he puts himself on higher alert than before.

“Marvelous Tuesday, isn’t it?” The man says, as agreed. Courfeyrac studies the lines in his face when he talks and tries to recall the timbre of a voice from 19 years ago. The man in front of him looks slightly put out that he was forced to get the day of the week wrong.

“Not as marvelous of a Tuesday as it is a Thursday,” Courfeyrac responds.

“It is good to meet you. Your reputation proceeds you.”

Meet him? But they have already met. Unless this Combeferre is different from the one he knew from their early undergraduate studies. No one has ever accused Courfeyrac of being forgettable. He moves the thumb on his wrist to the send a yellow alert to Musichetta at the ship controls.

Fine, he thinks, inane pleasantries it is. He leans out of the shadows and says, “Only the good parts I hope.”

The hazel eyes flash. “On my ship, we have heard of your philandering, frivolity, and tendency to not treat a situation with the gravity it deserves, not to mention the frequency with which your name appears affiliated with crimes of assassination and theft of both government and private property. But we have also heard there are few who can pull off a heist as well as the crew of the _Moonshine_. And we have heard of your kindness toward the people of Delena. That’s why we’ve come.”

The mention of Delena hits him in the heart. Compared to the mass chaos wrought by the MWR, he and his crew had done so little to assist. They’d delivered ill-gotten supplies and shepherded a few people off the surface before it was too late. In the end, there was no amount of stealth or firepower that could’ve held back the MWR.

Still, what they had done on Epicurus is the MWR’s number one reason for keeping him on the Most Wanted list. If this man is a government spy, he would try to get a confession on tape.

Courfeyrac blinks the last bit of emotion from his eyes and puts back on his cheekiest smile. “Really? I would have assumed it was for my irresistible charm. You seemed receptive enough to it all those years ago.”

This is a lie. Combeferre had never shown a lick of interest in Courfeyrac or his charms. He had been too busy preparing to be an MWR-goon doctor and Courfeyrac had no interest in getting caught up in that.

The man across from him blinks and is silent.

Fine, Courfeyrac will push a little harder. He leans one shoulder forward, tilts his head to expose his neck, and places his hand over the strange man’s so that the tips of his fingers reach the man’s wrist. His pulse is level. He’s good.

“Come now. We were quite close. Surely you remember the library.”

“Indeed, but that is not what we are here to discuss.”

“Ah, then Combeferre does not remember me.”

“What?”

“It is true we were not friends, but I hoped I was at least memorable.”

The man across from him pauses again. “I do remember you.”

“From where?”

Another pause.

“You are not who you say you are.”

The man takes a deep breath, but the barrel of Courfeyrac’s gun is already up against the man’s knee before he has a chance to move.

“Care to explain?” Courfeyrac suggests.

Suddenly, the doors hiss open and a more familiar figure rushes into the bar. Though he looks older and more world-weary, he could feasibly be the man that Courfeyrac once knew. They lock eyes and Combeferre wastes no time heading straight for their table.

The man in the chair does not flinch as Combeferre places his hand squarely on the man’s shoulder.

“Courfeyrac,” he says, with something like a plea in his eye.

“Nice of you to join us.”

“Please put your weapon back.”

“Is this one of yours?”

“Yes. Enjolras.”

“I see. But now there are two of you and one of me so I think I’ll keep this right where it is.” Enjolras’ knee is just far enough out from under the table that both men could see Courfeyrac push the barrel of the gun against it more firmly.

The two men don’t move. So, they’re unwilling to play fair or banter, Courfeyrac thinks with some annoyance.

“Sit. Explain.”

Combeferre complies and whispers, “Enjolras is my lieutenant, and a far better fighter than me. For new or untrustworthy clients, he stands in for me. A body double, or enough of one that those who don’t know me won’t notice. And in the event we lose communications, I am confident he will make the right decision.”

“Convenient.” Damn, why hadn’t he thought of that? He turns to Enjolras, “So if you’re the one willing to take risks and capable of making the right decision, why aren’t you captain?”

Enjolras does not move, but says simply and earnestly, “Because it is not my ship. And Combeferre is a far better man than I.”

“Hm.” He turns back to Combeferre. “So, am I untrustworthy or did you truly forget about me?”

“’Forget’ is a strong word. I didn’t hear a word about you for four years after you left, neither news nor gossip. When I heard about someone with your mother’s maiden name and your general appearance captaining a ship, I looked into it. But, you faked your death quite well. Surveillance photos with your face half-covered did not convince me to ignore all that evidence. I assumed it was a coincidence. Since then, your name and your ship have been nothing but another nuisance in the skies we have tried to avoid.”

“Of course,” Courfeyrac replies with a wry grin. There is the Combeferre he remembers. “So sorry to disappoint with my continued existence.” He hopes his tone conveys that he is not sorry at all.

Then, Courfeyrac is quiet a second too long, and Combeferre asks, “How did you do it?”

“That’s a bit of a long story with a gun to your friend’s knee. Instead, tell me how you got here so fast. I know where your ship is docked.”

Enjolras stiffens, but Combeferre admits, “I like to be nearby in case Enjolras is made. In a utility closet down the hall, there’s a man with surveillance equipment. I came as soon as I recognized you.” Enjolras rolls his eyes, with much less subtlety than he likely intends.

“And when was that?”

Combeferre swallows and his gaze flickers to his hands. “When you put your hand on his.” Enjolras’s gaze shoots to his captain.

“Yet I still caught your Enjolras in a lie.”

“I . . . left my transmitter with our crewman.” Enjolras’ earlier eyeroll was but a flicker of emotion compared to his now exasperated face.

“Well, I can see why you send in a body double. You really are easy to get information out of.”

Combeferre’s eyes harden. “There are few things I would not do for Enjolras. Explaining what you have likely already guessed does not compromise me. Why did you call us here?”

Courfeyrac gives them a real smile and makes a show of putting his gun back in its holster. He drops his voice and whispers, “Humanitarian heist needs two ships and medical expertise.”

“What kind of heist needs medical expertise?” Enjolras’ tone is much more clipped than when he was playing his captain.

“When the heist is for medical research and materials.”

“And how are you spinning a heist of medical research into a humanitarian job?” Combeferre asks.

Courfeyrac leans over the table and whispers, “When that research is a formula for the Red Fever vaccine and is being held hostage by the MWR to punish the poor on Danton 3.”

Combeferre’s eyes go wide. “And you can get to it?”

“With a little help. It’s held in the research facility on Diogenes 1. One dose of the vaccine sells for 2,000 credits on average.”

The two men across from him exchange a look. Then, with Combeferre’s jaw still clenched tight, Enjolras says. “Let’s talk.”


	2. A Vote to Vote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras confronts Combeferre about what went down in the bar, and we get some Combeferre backstory.

#### 38 Days Out

“Jehan, we’re back,” Combeferre says into the intercom past the bay door, once they’ve set foot back on familiar steel.

“Aye, Captain. Closing the door.”

The hydraulics hiss behind them. As Combeferre and Enjolras start to walk toward the bridge, the antiseptic air of the Station gives way to the warm and comforting scent of their home.

But Enjolras is tense, and he breaks the peaceful silence. “Combeferre, you shouldn’t have come to the bar. We didn’t know his intentions. You could have died.”

“My life is not worth yours, friend.”

“Combeferre,” he growls, “the safety and security of everyone on this ship is on your shoulders.”

“I’m well aware, Enjolras, and that includes you. Do not pretend that this ship would not survive without me. I, however, could not go on without you at my side.”

“Really, Combeferre, you know that goes both ways. You are my dearest friend, and my job is to protect you. Please let me do it.”

“I do, but your job does not include taking needless risks when the simple presence of my face would smooth things over. Unless you could have convinced him you weren’t an MWR spy, he definitely would have killed you. He obviously remembered my face, so my presence was necessary.”

Enjolras stops walking. When Combeferre turns to look at him, his feet are tightly side-by-side and his shoulders square. The rage their enemies fear fills his eyes.

“But did you remember his face? Combeferre, did you walk into a weapons-drawn scenario with a new contact you neither knew nor recognized?”

“No, Enjolras,” Combeferre scoffs. “I recognized him as soon as he leaned out of the shadows. I only came once it was clear he expected to recognize me as well.”

“And yet you lied to him? You never leave your comm when you’re off ship, and you fed me the line about the library. Don’t be foolish. How do you even know him?”

“We attended the same university. Even though I was pre-med and he was pre-law, we ran into each other frequently during our first two years. As freshmen, we lived in the same building. That’s when I was dedicated to being a MWR-licensed surgeon, and he was . . . . Well, much as he is now. Wild and flirtatious and radical. We clashed constantly. He tried to persuade me toward direct action and activism, and I tried to convince him to work for change from the inside. Obviously, neither of us were successful. Since he was always a slip of the tongue away from treason, when he vanished, I assumed he’d been arrested.” Combeferre turns back around and starts walking, but Enjolras’ next question abruptly stops him again.

“And the library?”

“There was an incident, in the library, in the first few weeks of our acquaintance,” Combeferre says over his shoulder. The tilt of his head is enough for Enjolras to see his expression steel. “It seems it was not salacious enough for him to remember.”

Enjolras nods and joins Combeferre as he starts walking again. “So will you vote to accept his offer for the partnership?”

“Yes,” Combeferre replies without hesitation. “It’s an important cause, and at his core Courfeyrac was once a good man. Epicurus leads me to believe that has not changed.”

They walk in silence until the door to the bridge slides open.

“Jehan, at ease,” Combeferre tells their pilot. “We’ll be staying here for a bit.”

“Thanks, Ferre. Meeting go well?”

“Yes. Feuilly should be back in five. Debrief in 15. Please tell the crew.”

\--

Everyone has arrived in the mess by the time Combeferre gets there. The sight of his six-person crew around the table warms his heart. Enjolras is as alert as ever. Feuilly stirs his coffee while Jehan gives him a massage. Bahorel flicks torn-up pieces of napkin at R while the latter tries to keep the sleep out of his eyes.

“Thanks for coming,” Combeferre says. “Sorry for keeping you from your naps.”

Feuilly shoots him an amused glance, and R looks sheepish.

With Combeferre standing at the head of the table and his crew sitting expectantly around him, he begins, “Hopefully this won’t take too long. The _Moonshine_ crew and captain have asked us if we’d like to participate in a cooperative heist. Given the reputation of the crew and the increased likelihood of complications from operating as part of a larger, unknown team, I’d like your opinions on our involvement. It’s a rather complicated situation, and both teams will have to come together to discuss the full plans and details before making a final decision. After the debriefing, they expect a day-of decision on whether we accept. After that, we have three days to fact-check their claims and retract our acceptance before the _Moonshine_ must contact their next choice.”

“We’re gonna vote to vote?” R whispers, mocking.

“Don’t be a prick,” Bahorel mutters, then flicks a particularly large napkin ball square onto R’s forehead.

“Accepting the meeting means we’ll all have to leave the ship to board the _Moonshine_ , which means even this has risk involved. So, yes, we’re voting to vote.”

“Very democratic,” R says. “I’m in.”

Jehan grins. “You just want to know if the on-board distillery rumors are true.”

“Jehan, alas, you know me so well.”

“For those of you who need more information, we’ll be targeting the satellite system in orbit around Diogenes 1, where the MWR are keeping the formula and key ingredients for a Red Fever vaccine.”

“Whoa,” Bahorel mutters under his breath.

“I know,” Combeferre responds and glances at Feuilly, who grips his crossed arms and stares at the table. “We won’t be making any trips to the Danton system, just to a contact Courfeyrac has in a nearby system who can produce and distribute the vaccine.”

He lets the silence sit for a moment, unsure if he should continue.

“As you all know, a situation very similar to the one on Danton III is what brought me to you all today. Furthermore, I realized upon seeing him that Courfeyrac is a man I knew many years ago. He has been vocally anti-MWR since the day we met. Though he may take a chance to swindle us, I do not believe he would turn us over to the MWR.

“The operation requires two ships due to the security system around the planet and would require some time planet-side. All the normal risks associated with that apply—getting stranded on a hostile planet, increased chances of being recognized while we stay in one place, capture during routine security sweeps while we’re planet-side, death if we fail—plus the risks of working with a new team—betrayal to the authorities, theft of our ship and belongings, carelessness or negligence resulting in the death or injury of one of our own. Also, we will not be turning this into a for-profit job. Each team will eat its own costs and the materials will be delivered without an expectation for payment.

“We got some details from Courfeyrac, but a full debriefing was too risky in a public place. Enjolras, would you mind fielding questions? All of you should talk this through.”

With shaky knees, Combeferre sits. He does not know which future makes him more anxious, the one where his team rejects the proposal or one where they accept it. On one hand, coordinating and executing a two-ship mission to sneak onto a well-guarded MWR planet with unfamiliar team members will not be easy. On the other, the cost if they don’t may be in millions of lives.

Combeferre knows why Courfeyrac chose them. The _Grace_ is famously fast and well-equipped for this kind of mission. As a hopeful young doctoral candidate, Combeferre specialized in vaccine research and creation. His crew had a long history of doing pro bono work, meaning they were likely to accept more.

As his crew speaks, Combeferre remembers the last conversation the two of them had. It was Combeferre’s last attempt to convince Courfeyrac to blend in and be quiet.

But Courfeyrac was not one to blend in.

\--

#### 19 Years Out

“What the fuck, Combeferre?” Courfeyrac seethes late one night in the private study room he had found Combeferre in. It was the night before Courfeyrac planned to challenge new regulations at a council meeting, and he had asked Combeferre if he would come support the cause. “The system cannot be changed from the inside. Time and history prove it. They will warp you without you even knowing it. They will force you to prioritize the lives of a few Republican officials and sponsors over the lives of many innocent civilians.

“Your silence does no good. You say enlightenment should come slow and steady like the rising sun but forget that dawn changes as it happens. We don’t have that luxury. If we compromise on equality, there is no equality. I know you understand the equitable distribution of healthcare and education are crucial to a fair society. The MWR has turned its back on those ideals, but I cannot.”

This is an old argument for them, but it has been driving a wedge deeper between them for nearly two years. Combeferre respects Courfeyrac, or at least he respects the parts of Courfeyrac that can hold an intelligent conversation or inspire a crowded room to listen. He wishes they could agree on this. Courfeyrac could do so much good.

“How could you be so reckless, Courfeyrac? What are you going to do? Just set everything on fire? Just blow it all up?”

Courfeyrac looks him dead in the eye and says, “If that’s what it takes. I would rather start a fire than let a single person live without warmth.”

He storms out. A week after that, he stops seeing Courfeyrac around campus. It is the last time they talk for nineteen years.

\--

#### 38 Days Out

Of course, everything Courfeyrac had said has proven true. As Combeferre listens to his team discuss the heist, he remembers and regrets all the sacrifices to his ideals that he’d made as an MWR doctor. He remembers the faces of all the people he’d been prohibited from helping because the MWR deemed their lives not worth the cost. Even though the MWR provided him and his colleagues with the best medical training available at the time, they also did everything they could to prevent them from using it. At first, he thought it would be better once he was the head of his own team. But when he finally reached that goal and led a crew of medical personnel to the seventeenth moon of Vergniaud, he found that the restrictions came from far higher up than the captain of a medical vessel.

While Enjolras describes a very similar situation on a different planet, Combeferre can’t help but think about how it all went wrong on Vergniaud XVII. He and his medical team were forced to watch as thousands of miners died under their care, from a treatable disease caused by the only work the MWR allowed them to do. Even as the disease affected nearly every member of the workforce, his team was only given meager supplies and were required to run each patient by the MWR ambassador on the planet before beginning treatment.

Eventually, riots broke out near the capital building and at the medical facility. MWR soldiers fired indiscriminately into the crowd, even though most of the protestors were hardly strong enough to walk and many other people there just happened to work in the area. After Combeferre watched the last of his friends and coworkers fall, unable to save them, he ran back into the hospital.

He looks across the table now at the man who’d been his only companion for months after the slaughter. He found Feuilly crouched in the hallway. At the time, he was the mechanic son of one of Combeferre’s miner patients, and a man who had just watched his father die on a hospital bed. The two of them only barely escaped with the medical ship and their lives. Had they not found each other and had Combeferre not convinced Feuilly to come with him, they would both be dead. Then, hearing that name smacks Combeferre back to the present.

“Feuilly, what about you?” Enjolras asks gently.

“I can’t stand by when there’s a way for me to help.”

“Are we ready to vote?” Combeferre interjects. He should’ve been listening to the conversation because now he has no idea which way this will go. His shakiness comes back.

Enjolras nods. “All in favor?” Six people raise their hands.


	3. A Meeting of the Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two crews meet up to talk details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so here's where the discussion of illness comes in. It starts after "Stand down, Enjolras," and ends with "Do we have any questions for the doctor?" Joly discusses how the disease progresses, its symptoms, and its mortality rates. We learn the name of a patient and what happened to her.
> 
> After that is a discussion of how space capitalism affects healthcare in-universe. If you don't want to hear about this, skip from "Do we have any questions for the doctor?" to "Shut up, R."

#### 37 Days Out

When he first decided to make the offer all those months ago, Courfeyrac had not expected to have a strong reaction to the news that the _Grace_ had accepted it. Excitement, maybe. Confidence in their future success, probably.

But when Musichetta had found him yesterday to inform him of the message, his gut had twisted. There had barely been three hours from when he had left Combeferre and Enjolras in the bar and when he received their answer. He had immediately scheduled the meeting for 14:00 the next day, which is now today. In about two minutes, actually.

He had spent the rest of last night trying to convince himself that it was irrational to clean the ship before they arrived. It’s a ship. It’s a smuggling ship. Of course it’s dirty. Still, he had found himself wiping off the mess hall table a little harder than he normally would have, once dinner was finished last night. And now he is left wondering which instinct he should have followed as he comes to a stop in front of the bay door.

They’re here. He has an hour to convince them to do this crazy stupid thing with him. Marius and Eponine flank him as he stands ready to receive their guests. From the cockpit, Chetta opens the bay door to six men standing resolute. Their expressions give nothing away.

“Good afternoon. Welcome to the _Moonshine._ Please come this way. Walk with me, Combeferre?”

The other captain nods.

“I was grateful to hear your crew was open to this discussion.”

“Of course. Many of us are particularly devoted to healthcare equality. We’re happy to help.”

“Hm.” Courfeyrac isn’t sure what to say next, and wonders if he should bring up an old disagreement just for the sake of it. Best not. His goal today is charisma and charm.

Combeferre hesitates. “Do you know why that is, Courfeyrac?”

“Why you are devoted to healthcare equality? Well, I can’t imagine a former doctor would just decide medicine doesn’t matter, and like minds tend to gather.”

“Hm.”

The irony of Combeferre’s response mirroring his own is not lost on Courfeyrac.

“If I had to venture further,” Courfeyrac continues, “I would guess it has something to do with your mysterious disappearance during the Vergniaud XVII riots. Or perhaps your scandalizing return to the limelight about a year later, when you were almost caught delivering stolen goods.”

Combeferre huffs with a smile. “We’ve gotten much better at not getting caught since Jehan joined the crew.”

“Much to the MWR’s dismay. Jehan is your pilot?”

“Yes. On both accounts.”

“I’ve heard great things.”

“Likewise,” Combeferre admits begrudgingly.

“Though I must confess I was surprised when I first saw your name on the Most Wanted list.”

Combeferre gives him a powerful side-eye. “When I first thought you were the famous Courfeyrac, I was not at all surprised.”

The silence settles for a moment before Courfeyrac says, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry your plans didn’t work out.”

Combeferre flinches. “Hopefully yours still will.”

They turn into the mess hall, which Cosette had prepared with holoscreens and six extra seats. Apparently, she also read Courfeyrac’s mind and added some additional décor to class up the place. The rest of his crew is already seated.

“Alright, everyone, take your seats. Would anybody like a drink?”

“No,” Combeferre barks before any of the rest of them have a chance.

If Courfeyrac had been hoping the crews would mingle a little during this meeting, he would have been disappointed. Even though his three crewmembers had already sat down and spaced themselves out, Combeferre and his team make a point to all sit together on the far end of the table. Combeferre at its head and his crew divided evenly on either side. To his right is Enjolras. To his left, a slight but determined-looking man with red hair. The six of them make an intimidating picture. Courfeyrac wonders if it’s rehearsed.

He clears his throat. “Combeferre, would you mind introducing us to your crew? The MWR databases had names for all of you but not recent pictures.”

Combeferre glances to the burly man on Enjolras’s other side, who nods.

“Quickly, for the benefit of your crew.” Combeferre turns his gaze to each of the other six people at his table. “To my right is my first officer, Enjolras. Beside him, Bahorel, Security and Munitions Expert.” He gestures to the three men on his left, from closest to farthest. “Feuilly, Chief Engineer. Jehan, pilot. And R, Translator and Cultural Expert.”

“That’s an unusual title for a skeleton crew,” Eponine comments.

“And yet you knew he was coming and expected him anyway,” Combeferre does not leave room for argument. Courfeyrac wonders if he’s going to have this stick up his ass the whole time. Maybe it’s not too late to call his contacts on the _Satan Maria._

He decides to jump in before Eponine can start shit. “And on our lovely crew– going around this fun little horseshoe from right to left—we have Pilot Musichetta, Assistant Medic Bossuet, Medic Joly, Myself as Captain, First Mate Marius, Engineer Cosette, and Hacker Extraordinaire Eponine.” He rolls the r a bit on extraordinaire to see if he can get the other captain to react. It does not work.

Eponine gives him a mock-pity smile.

“Your medic needs an assistant?” Enjolras’ tone cuts through the air.

Musichetta looks like she’s about to fight. Bossuet grabs her arm.

“Stand down, Enjolras,” Combeferre intones.

“Great, now that we’ve both made jabs at the other team,” Courfeyrac says bitterly, “let’s move on.” He double taps the screen controls in front of him. First, he’ll appeal to their emotions. Before each person appears an image of a woman curled up in the hospital bed, facing away from the camera. Little red dots cover so much of her that, on such a grainy image, it’s almost hard to believe she wasn’t born with skin the color of blood. “One of our contacts in the Danton system sent us this image, of a patient in late stages of the Red Fever. Joly, do you mind?”

He nods. “The Red Fever is a hemorrhagic viral disease, meaning it mainly causes damage to the circulatory system. It’s spread almost entirely through the bite of mosquito-like insects which are very common in the forests of Danton III. Since the primary industry on the planet is logging, most of the population is susceptible because they work in or live near the forests. The Red Fever’s most common symptom, and the one that earned it its name, is the petechiae that spread out from the torso. These red dots are the result of burst capillaries as the virus spreads throughout the body.”

As Joly talks, Courfeyrac takes careful note of the reactions across the table. Combeferre looks steely eyed at the screen with his jaw clenched. It’s likely he already knows all of this. Granted, it’s likely most of them do since this disease has been wreaking havoc on Danton III for years. But for the purposes of persuasion, Courfeyrac had decided it was best to remind their potential friends what is at stake.

“This disease largely occurs in two phases. Lucky patients will only suffer minor symptoms for a few days and then recover completely once their capillaries heal. Other symptoms during this stage include fever, muscle aches, fatigue, and swollen lymph glands. The second stage happens after a brief respite from the symptoms, where the patient will return to their normal energy levels and temperature. After 48 hours, either the petechiae will start to heal or they will worsen and mark the beginning of the second stage. Then, the fever will return, usually with the same symptoms the patient showed earlier and frequently with delirium, stomach pains, blood-specked vomiting, and bleeding from the nose and mouth.”

The one Eponine insulted, R, looks nauseous. Enjolras is watching Joly like he’s trying to find any clue that Joly is unqualified to give this speech.

“The patient you see is late into the second stage, which we can tell by the way the petechiae almost completely cover her body. At this point, although you can’t see it here, her limbs, face, and even the whites of her eyes will show petechiae. The second stage is fatal for nearly 70% of patients who reach it, which translates to about a 30% mortality rate for first-stage patients.”

Jehan’s face whitens. It’s one thing to hear rumors of a horrible disease. It’s another to hear the statistics. Feuilly has the same resolute look as his captain.

“Did she make it?” he asks.

Joly is quiet a moment. “I’m afraid she did not.”

“What was her name?”

“Renee McAvery. She is survived by her wife and their son.”

Feuilly meets Joly’s eyes and nods once. An acknowledgement of respect, Courfeyrac hopes.

“Do we have any questions for the doctor?”

“Please continue,” Combeferre says.

Courfeyrac nods. “As you all know,” he starts, flicking the screens to a map of MWR bases on the planet, “The Milky Way Republic are a colossal bunch of shitheads and they’re using this virus to keep the people of Danton afraid, desperate, in-mourning, and unempowered. Each of the medical centers you see on this map can provide care for Red Fever patients. Note the density of these locations in urban rather than forested areas.”

“The primary cause for this . . . distribution —” Courfeyrac has to hold back a sneer “— is the travel requirements related to the virus. No one may enter or leave the planet without receiving the vaccine at least once every ten years. One dose is 2000 credits.” Bahorel hisses in a breath. R’s eyes widen. Combeferre does not move or even blink.

“Those who have plans to emigrate or travel automatically receive a discounted price of about 500c, which of course doesn’t actually help anyone because it costs at least 1500c to leave the planet anyway. The result is that something like 80% of people born on the planet never leave. This artificially maintains a large supply of labor on the planet despite otherwise terrible conditions. The MWR has workers and is satisfied.”

Courfeyrac grips the arm of his chair tighter to keep himself from exploding at the next part. “One of the bureaucrats told our contact the illness was ‘not that big a deal’ to the Republic because the vaccine effectively isolates it on this planet. Meanwhile, all protests for better working conditions or more widespread healthcare are ignored because the wealthy believe anyone who doesn’t like the conditions on Danton can just leave, incorrectly citing the discounted vaccines as a viable option for any citizen of Danton III.”

He takes a shuddering breath to calm himself. “I hope I do not have to tell you all the ways in which this is flawed. Our contact —“a quick flip to the next slide, a rough outline of their contact’s plans for the goods“— can reproduce, distribute, and administer the vaccine and provide paperwork certifying each patient’s immunity. All we have to do is bring them the formula for the vaccine and vials of the weakened virus used to make it.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Shut up, R,” Enjolras hisses.

“On to the good stuff,” Courfeyrac continues. He pulls up schematics of the satellite system around Diogenes One.

“All these materials are stored in the satellite system around Diogenes One, or Dione if you’re lazy and not paid to say the whole thing. The facilities are at their most vulnerable during a 24-hour period of decontamination and maintenance, when the majority of the staff evacuates and cleaning crews come in. This happens once every six months.”

“That’s still not enough times,” Joly whispers.

“I know, bud,” Courfeyrac reassures him, then turns back to the rest of the room. “During this period, the series of satellites and stations shown on the schematics Eponine acquired create an electromagnetic field that prevents any vessel from entering or leaving orbit. The formula and vials are stored on Station C, and the emergency kill switch for the electromagnetic field is on Station J. So, we need two ships. One to dismantle the field while the other takes the goods.

“Eponine, will you tell them what else you found?”

She nods. “Most importantly, I’ve determined that forcing a shut-down of the field will have no effect on the planet-side civilians. Unless we literally blow up a space station and the debris is big enough to not burn up in atmo and to crush someone when it lands, there should be no civilian casualties on this mission. The only people at risk are ourselves, any MWR operatives we meet, and our contacts if we are caught.

“That said, there is more danger to us on this mission than a standard heist because of the additional security protocols Dione sets up around the time of the decontamination. In order to prevent exactly what we’re attempting, the MWR enforces a lockdown order for one week before maintenance. On-planet travel happens as normal, but only MWR ships can enter or leave orbit or atmosphere. After that week has passed, the electromagnetic field takes three days to ramp up to full capacity, after which the station crews will start shuttling down. This means we’ll have to be stationed on Dione for about two weeks before it’s safe to take action. I’ll share the full details of how to take down the field with the appropriate people before the mission, but for now all I will say is that . . . if the team to Station J does not succeed, the Station C team and the goods will have no way out. No escape from the MWR.

“On the flip side, if we send a team to station J first to ensure their mission does not fail, we risk giving the MWR enough time to realize something is wrong and send up a crew to Station C to stop us. These teams have to be simultaneous. They have to be perfectly coordinated.”

“Marius, will you take it from here?”

“Got it.” He sets the screens to show the teams Marius had arranged. “We’ll be splitting into two teams. The A-Team will go on the _Grace_ to get the formula and vials and the B-Team to distract the MWR with the _Moonshine_ and take down the field. If all goes as planned, the MWR will be fooled into thinking this is solely an attack on Station J, which stores plenty of arms worth stealing on its own right and is also less staffed during maintenance periods. I’ve designed the teams based on the skills of each individual. Pilots and engineers will stay with their ships to ensure smooth getaways. As you probably know, the _Grace_ is the faster of our two ships. Also, if you believe everything you hear, it has a near-perfect cloaking ability so that’s cool.”

Courfeyrac sees Jehan hide a smirk.

Marius doesn’t notice, and continues, “The A-Team will have a four-person ground crew. Joly and Combeferre should be able to quickly sift through the necessary information to get what’s relevant. Your antiviral and vaccination research, Combeferre, is one of the reasons why we particularly sought out your crew for this mission. Courfeyrac will accompany you to provide necessary back-up and bypass any security shields or locks. If I understand correctly, R should be capable of doing the same.

“We’ll need Eponine’s expertise to take down the electromagnetic field, so she’ll be on the ground crew for the B-Team, along with Bahorel and Enjolras to provide cover and back-up. Bossuet will stay onboard to deal with any injuries once the ground crew returns. I’ll be on the _Grace_ , managing coms and coordinating both teams on both ships.

“To minimize our chances of being recognized on entry, we’d like to rendezvous to mix the crews together before going to Dione. Marat Station is both unregulated enough and close enough that it works as a rendezvous point. It’s a two-day journey from Marat to Dione.” He pauses and clears his throat. “In order to be on Dione with enough time before the next maintenance period begins, we’ll need to rendezvous in 23 days.”

“What?” Enjolras spits.

Marius shifts in his seat. “It took us a really long time to find you.”

Enjolras still looks pissed, but Bahorel takes a moment to preen.

“Thank you, we do our best,” he says. “One question. You can coordinate teams from either ship. Why are you on ours?”

“Because your ship is faster and hopefully will not face much firepower, you’re more likely to make it. The woman we’re delivering this too is an old friend of Cosette’s. She goes by Simplice. But Cosette is needed on the _Moonshine_ , and I’m the next best thing. Even if we lose _Moonshine_ , I can get us to the drop-off point and Simplice will talk to me.”

“Why would she talk to you if she’s a friend of Cosette’s?” Enjolras asks.

Marius turns a bit red and stammers, “I- uh, she was at the . . . wedding. We met.” Cosette covers her laugh with one hand and pats Marius’ knee with the other.

“And why is the first mate managing the mission instead of the captain?” Feuilly asks.

This one Marius has an easy answer for. “Courfeyrac is a better shot than me, and more level-headed under pressure.” An image of Marius threatening to blow up himself and a spacecraft hangar to let Cosette get away flashes through Courfeyrac’s mind.

“Whose plan is this?” Combeferre asks.

“It’s a group effort,” Courfeyrac cuts in before anyone gives him too much credit. “Everyone on the crew played their part.”

“And what if something goes wrong?”

Courfeyrac lets out a long breathe through his nose. “Depends on where it goes wrong. Contingency plans range from . . . taking a three-week vacation on Dione to taking out Station J with ship canons.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Courfeyrac asks. He’d hoped a ten-year career as a smuggler and outlaw had gotten Combeferre over this shit.

“There will be regular crewmen on that ship. Desperate or brainwashed recruits just trying to support their families. We do not need to kill to bring people their cure.”

“Unless we do. What do you propose if A-Team succeeds but the B-Team ground crew all die before Eponine can shut down the EM field? The only other way to is to break the field by removing one of the stations. Should we just surrender the _Grace_ back to the MWR and subject ourselves and thousands more on Diogenes One to death to save a few MWR soldiers? It’s us or them, Combeferre. It’s innocent civilians on Danton III or them.”

Combeferre doesn’t say a word, just focuses on the schematics before him. Enjolras looks at him with sympathy. The silence weighs.

“I chose you, your ship, and your crew for this mission for a reason,” Courfeyrac says. “If you accept, Eponine will use backchannels to put all the files and plans we’ve gathered on your personal devices and behind your firewall without giving the MWR the chance to intercept.”

“Our devices are secu—” Bahorel starts, but Cosette cuts him off.

“Not from Eponine.”

Eponine grins, and Courfeyrac can only join her. “So, in short. Musichetta, Cosette, and Bossuet will stay on the _Moonshine_ while Enjolras, Eponine, and Bahorel go into Station J to sabotage the electromagnetic field so we can escape. At the same time, Jehan and Feuilly will stay in the _Grace_ with Marius coordinating communications between teams, while Joly, Combeferre, R, and myself will be in Station C getting the materials Simplice needs for the vaccine. Do you have any further questions for us? You’ll understand why we need a quick answer.” Combeferre looks around to his team, who all shake their heads.

“No, thank you. We will, of course, have to discuss this privately.”

Before Combeferre can say they’ll go back to their ship, Courfeyrac jumps in, “We’ll leave the room and give you as long as you need to decide. The panel to contact us when you’re ready is on the wall by the door.”

“And if we want to leave?” The steel is back in Combeferre’s eyes.

The question puts a flash of something he can’t name in Courfeyrac’s chest, but he has to admit, “We will not stop you.”

“I see. Give us a moment.” Combeferre nods toward the door. “I do not expect a long discussion.”

“Actually,” Bahorel says as he stands, “can you show me where the can is?”

“Follow me.” It’s only once he and his whole crew has left the room and the door shuts behind them that Courfeyrac lets its irritation release.

“Ugh,” he shouts down the hallway. Marius pats his shoulder as he passes.

“I know, Courf.”

The crew filters around him, off to go on with their day, so that it’s just him and Bahorel standing in the hall. His eyebrows are raised expectedly.

“You seem like you’re a pretty fight-y guy. Why are you on his team?” Courfeyrac asks, jerking his head back toward the mess as he turns down a new corridor.

Bahorel chortles. “Looking for new recruits?”

“Legitimately curious.” He makes the irritation clear in his voice.

Bahorel’s smile is replaced with a pensive look. “Combeferre’s brand of pacifism isn’t for everyone. You’re right, I am pretty fight-y.” There’s an edge of the laugh back in his voice for just a second before he returns to solemnity. “But I’m also the kind of guy who knows when to save that energy for later. So is Combeferre. He’ll fight when it is time.”

Courfeyrac huffs. “Sure, he will. We’re here. I trust you’ll be able to make it back on your own. Take a left at the crossroads, walk until you see the red door.”

Bahorel nods his thanks and goes in.

Courfeyrac’s hand is to his ear almost before the door shuts. “Eponine, you’re watching the corridors?”

“Yup.”

“Thanks.”

\--

Once Bahorel returns to the mess hall, it takes less than five minutes for the crew of the _Grace_ to ring for Courfeyrac. Of course, they agree to the job. They spend the next 23 days fine-tuning the engines, going over the materials Eponine sends them, refueling, and tying up loose ends from various jobs and errands. Since it’s on the way to the rendezvous, Combeferre agrees to spend a few days on Corday VII so Bahorel can visit his girlfriend and R can visit his sisters.

The rest of the crew enjoys the fresh air and the precious moments unencumbered by the pressure of a job or the danger of life in space. But Courfeyrac spends the whole week trying to settle his thoughts. He waffles between deciding to trust Courfeyrac and deciding not to trust him. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough time for him to make the decision.

On one hand, Combeferre has no way of knowing how much or if Courfeyrac has actually changed since they last knew each other. He could be the reckless kid he once was, the seasoned hero rebels paint him as, or the heartless terrorist the MWR would have everyone see. The list of his presumed crimes and outstanding arrest warrants is long. Plus, since Eponine hacked so easily into the _Grace_ ’s system, she must also be able to easily do so to the MWR’s and erase evidence of their worst crimes.

On the other hand, this job is an important one. Not for themselves, but for the people of Danton III. Combeferre realizes the MWR’s propaganda is not credible, and since half of what they say about him isn’t true, Courfeyrac must be able to say the same thing. Also, and perhaps most importantly, the idea that Courfeyrac had picked Combeferre specifically for this, well . . . it shouldn’t mean anything. After all, Combeferre reasons, how many smugglers with medical doctorates could the galaxy possibly have?

But still. The sincerity and the fire in Courfeyrac’s eyes as he’d said “I choose you, your ship, and your crew” is seared into Combeferre’s mind.

Maybe that’s the problem. Part of Combeferre thinks he should’ve let Enjolras take the lead on this decision, but another part of him remembers that every member of the team voted in favor of the job.

It isn’t until they dock at Marat Station, prepared to spend the next two weeks going over plans and running drills with their new teams, that Combeferre decides there’s nothing else he can do. He trusts his team to make good decisions and to make the most out of every situation. All he can do now is hope he can keep it together, and that he and Courfeyrac can work together long enough to get the citizens of Danton III what they need. For the next two weeks, the mission is what’s most important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my solemn duty as author to inform you why the Moonshine has an assistant medic. Bossuet used to be the engineer/mechanic. After a long line of mishaps and then one final mishap that gets them stuck on a planet in a dire situation, Marius' new crush Cosette swoops in, saves the ship, and joins the crew. After this, Bossuet agrees it's probably best he doesn't touch the engines anymore. The whole crew continues to love him and Joly certainly doesn't mind the excuse to spend more time with his boyfriend.


	4. Diogenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group is sequestered on the planet and gets into some shenanigans and also some feelings talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To avoid additional "wow capitalism+healthcare is fucked up" discourse and allusions to a the population of a planet dying from lack of aid, skip from "Uh, yes?" to "3 Days Out".

#### 5 Days Out

“I am bored out of my mind,” Courfeyrac complains to the room at large, laid on his back in the middle of the dining room table. “How about we all go find a fun bar tonight?”

“No,” Combeferre cuts in from the living area.

“No?” Courfeyrac is instantly propped up on his elbows, looking at Combeferre through the open archway separating the two areas. “You’re not even in here; I wasn’t even talking to you.”

“A bunch of drunk operatives, some with known faces, does not make a promising combination for a successful heist.”

“Oh please, we’re professionals.” He throws his legs over the side of the table and moves to lean against the door frame. Combeferre does not look up from his cup of coffee or his data pad, which is no doubt displaying the schematics of Station C for the 348th time. Combeferre is alone, and the conversation behind Courfeyrac has already resumed without him.

So, Courfeyrac puts on his most charming smile and pitches his voice so that it rolls like honey. “Besides, I’m sure we could stand to let loose some of this tension.”

Combeferre’s eyes snap up to meet his, and Courfeyrac hopes he isn’t imagining Combeferre’s eyes widening. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from breaking into a full grin.

“No recreational outings. No lingering in public spaces. We agreed.” So maybe Courfeyrac did imagine it.

“Ugh, you are such a pain in the ass.”

“I am doing what needs to be done.”

“Fine.” He turns back to the room behind him. Everyone else has fled, but Jehan sits at the table still with laughter in his eyes.

Courfeyrac smiles back and gets an idea. He sits next to him, with elbow on the back of Jehan’s chair and his cheek resting on his fist so that their faces are inches apart. He says quietly, “You seem fun. Maybe you and I could go have some fun together.” On the last four words, he runs a finger lightly up from Jehan’s knee to the middle of his thigh.

The brightness in Jehan’s eyes spreads to a warm smile on his face. “I am fun. But not fun enough to distract you from what and who you’d really rather be thinking about.”

Courfeyrac does not want to touch that, and he takes back his hand. “Well, I’ve been told I can be very distracting, and certainly distracting enough for the two of us.” Jehan laughs.

“I would appreciate it if you would not meddle in the personal affairs of my crew,” Combeferre cuts in from the other room.

Courfeyrac spares a glance that way and scoffs. Turning back to Jehan, he whispers, “He’s such a fuddy duddy.”

“He is,” Jehan whispers back, nodding. “But he’s also, like, a really great person.”

“You are no help at all. I’ll leave you alone, then.”

“Glad to be of service,” Jehan says, picking up the book in front of him.

On his way to find other people, Courfeyrac has no choice but to briefly go through the living space.

Enjolras sits down on the couch across from Combeferre and whispers, “Doesn’t he have more important things to do?”

As he walks down the hall, Courfeyrac hears Combeferre say, “Leave him alone.”

\--

#### 4 Days Out

Courfeyrac doesn’t know what possesses him to do it. But, with only a handful of days to go before they have to pull off the impossible, Combeferre announces he needs to take a walk to clear his head and Courfeyrac is up on his feet to join him before he can think twice.

Courfeyrac doesn’t know how long they’ve been going. Just that his pace is even with Combeferre’s, almost perfectly in sync down to the step as they move through the quiet, residential parts of the city. The Diogenian night is warm and humid, but not enough to be stifling. Instead, it feels like the atmosphere itself is embracing each of them as they walk. The wind ruffles Courfeyrac’s hair and pushes the scent of sweet-fried buns over the air. It’s probably coming from a nearby home, but he almost stops Combeferre to ask if he wants to find some food. Before he can, Combeferre speaks.

“Why did you pick us?”

Courfeyrac is thrown by this question. He lets out a breath, to give himself some time to think. When he does answer, he tries to keep it quiet and vague enough no one at their windows could overhear anything meaningful. “There are a limited number of people like us with the medical expertise to help Joly find the right stuff quickly. And, I remembered you specialized in this kind of thing. Viruses and vaccines and, I dunno, herd immunity or something.” He hopes that’ll be enough but Combeferre doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know if it’s fair to say you were the first people we thought of, but you—and your team and your ship—were definitely the most qualified. You’ve built yourselves quite the reputation.”

Combeferre snorts.

“And, well, I remembered you from school. You were always a good person, an honorable person, even if we had different methods. I trusted you to want what was best for the people we’re helping and to not betray us just because you could.”

He looks over to gauge Combeferre’s reaction. He keeps his eyes on the ground, but a faint smile graces his lips.

Finally, he speaks. “Well, thank you. This is exactly the kind of thing I want to be doing. Exactly the kind of thing I think will make a difference.”

Courfeyrac nods and swallows. He feels heat rushing to his cheeks and decides the silence is too much for him. “So, uhh, what happened? Like I said, I was surprised to see your name on the MWR’s shitlist.”

Combeferre stops dead in his tracks and, for the first time that night, he meets Courfeyrac’s eyes. His gaze pierces straight through him. “You really wanna know?”

He stammers, his tongue held back by the intensity in Combeferre’s eyes. Something twists in his core. “Uh, yes?”

So Combeferre tells him. For nearly fifteen minutes, Courfeyrac listens to the horror story of Combeferre’s time on Vergniaud XVII. He describes the illness that racked the bodies of the miners there. He describes the futility of reaching out to his superiors for help. He describes all the shortcuts he had to take, all the sacrifices he made, even at the expense of the MWR’s own physician’s oath. Combeferre tells him the story of the riots that led to the deaths of his teammates and his last-minute attempts to save himself and the only other living person he could find and convince to come with him.

Listening to the story of Combeferre’s hopes shattering around him is enough to break Courfeyrac’s heart. By the time he reaches the end of the story, expressing gratitude that he was able to find Feuilly and get the medship off-planet and off the Republic’s radar, they have both stopped moving completely.

Courfeyrac’s facing Combeferre, who’s still staring straight ahead. There are nearly tears in Courfeyrac’s eyes and he can almost hear them in Combeferre’s voice.

“I’m so sorry,” Courfeyrac whispers. He tries not to think about what he does know of Vergniaud XVII: That the MWR had abandoned the colony about nine years ago, citing that the land was unworkable and the people were intolerant of “Republican cooperation”. Millions of people had been left to survive on their own or die. They were given no assistance, no food, and no medicine. All public communication had been cut off. Courfeyrac has no idea how many people made it. Amidst all the other horrors of the galaxy, this horror story of a backwater planet had mostly been on the periphery. Courfeyrac doesn’t want to know how long that was after Combeferre escaped.

“Two months later, they issued the evacuation orders. We lost contact with the last living people we knew there six months after that, before we were able to get the medship back online and return to pick anyone up.”

Courfeyrac is at a loss for words. He is grateful to know what made the man who stands before him today, but wishes he hadn’t had to wake up the ghosts in Combeferre’s eyes to find out.

“Thank you for telling me,” he finally says.

Combeferre pauses. “Thank you for listening. Let’s go inside.”

It’s only then that Courfeyrac realizes they’re back at the house. Startled, he follows Combeferre inside. Their crews are laughing and drinking together in the main living area. Several of them look up at the return of their captains, but Enjolras and Feuilly’s eyes linger on Combeferre’s.

They wordlessly follow him upstairs. Courfeyrac, at a loss for what else to do, sits down next to Marius and grabs the flask out of his friend’s hand.

\--

#### 3 Days Out

Almost 24 hours after hearing Combeferre’s heartbreaking story, Courfeyrac still hasn’t shaken the heavy feelings it left him with. He realizes he has to find a way to lighten his own mood and maybe get both teams to blow off steam before the big day. He shows up after dinner and slams two decks of Uno cards on the table.

“It’s go time, bitches,” he announces to the room at large.

“Nope, I’m out,” Bossuet immediately stands up and walks out and his partners, laughing, go with him.

That’s probably for the best, Courfeyrac thinks before saying, “No one else is allowed to leave; you are all stuck here.”

A few of them groan, but Bahorel cheers. Bahorel is Courfeyrac’s new favorite.

“Listen up, here’s how we’re gonna play!” Bahorel shouts.

Courfeyrac watches Combeferre roll his eyes and sits down between him and Marius as Bahorel advocates for his own set of house rules, loudly and with no room for argument.

It’s the most convoluted set of rules Courfeyrac has ever heard. Something about 7’s and 0’s and rainbows and sandwiches. “I will never play this game another way again,” he says as soon as Bahorel’s done.

“Good,” Bahorel shouts. “As it should be.”

Courfeyrac finishing dealing and they’re off. Within the first two minutes of gameplay, six Draw 2 cards are stacked on top of each other.

“Aw, poor baby,” Eponine mocks as she lays down a seventh.

Feuilly now has more cards than he can hold.

“Joke’s on you, Ep,” Jehan says and throws down a 7.

Her whole face falls as everyone passes their hands to the left. R starts laughing into his hand and she hits him.

“Ow, okay, fair, fair. Enjolras, play your card.”

“I’m thinking,” Enjolras is immediately on the defense. Poor, earnest boy, Courfeyrac thinks as Enjolras stares at his cards like they’ll reveal the secrets of the future. “Ep, I’m assuming you’d appreciate revenge on the guy who just laughed at you.”

“Oh, definitely.”

Enjolras slams down a reverse, and says without a trace of laughter in his face, “And that’s how you win friends and influence people.”

“Are there no normal cards in this deck?” Marius asks, obviously stressed.

“At least you have two kind people next to you,” R whines, “I have Scylla and Charybdis.”

“Poor baby,” Eponine repeats as she puts a Wild Draw 4 on top of Feuilly’s blue 2.

“Ahh, motherfuck.” He morosely slides four cards off the deck.

“That’s life, brother,” Bahorel tells him. “Color?”

“Green,” Eponine replies.

“A-ha!” He slams down two green Sixes. “Uno!”

“Nooo, that’s too early!” Cosette complains. “Babe, play that one,” she points as she puts down a 4.

“Okay, stop looking at my cards.”

“Then put them closer to your face.”

She puts two Wild Draw 4’s on top of Marius’ reverse.

“Yeah, I deserved that,” Bahorel admits, and the game keeps going.

It is only a hair short of chaos, and Courfeyrac has never had more fun in his life. They are all laughing and joking, and he can feel the energy of the room rising. It makes him giddy. When he finally gets his own Uno, he shouts it louder than Bahorel had.

“Hm, we’ll see.”

“Don’t fuck this up for me, Cosette.”

“I am absolutely gonna try,” she goads, “but I got nothing.”

“Thank God.”

Courfeyrac is on edge the whole round, until Feuilly throws down a wild card.

“Alright, friends, who’s been paying attention?”

“It’s a yellow,” Combeferre says, and Courfeyrac squawks.

He ignores the mutiny of Marius chuckling to his left.

“Listen to your engineer,” Combeferre croons with a grin. “Keep ‘em closer to your face.”

“That’s the spirit,” Cosette chimes.

“Then let’s go blue,” Feuilly says, and Jehan lightly places a 3 on top of the stack.

“This is all I have,” Enjolras admits, setting down a yellow 3. “I’m sorry.” Courfeyrac’s heart lifts.

Combeferre is calm. “Tragic,” he says, sliding a red 3 over Enjolras’ yellow one.

“Goddamn it!!” Courfeyrac shouts good naturedly, slamming his fist on the table.

But on the way back up, his knuckles skim the lip of Combeferre’s mug and tip it over. The nearly steaming coffee spills, soaking Combeferre’s sleeve and dripping into his lap. He shouts and is immediately on his feet.

Courfeyrac rushes to join him. “Oh, shit, I’m so so sorry, Combeferre. Are you okay?”

“God fucking dammit, Courfeyrac,” he shouts, pulling his black sweater over his head, “you are such a fucking pain in the ass.”

“Did you get burnt?” Courfeyrac worries, as Combeferre dabs his pants with the dry parts of the sweater.

“No, but Jesus, do you have to be so fucking reckless?”

That slaps Courfeyrac in the face, and throws him back to their last conversation 19 years ago.

Before Courfeyrac can say anything, Combeferre storms away. He doesn’t come back out all night.

\--

Enjolras and Feuilly find him later, laying on his bed in the room they’re all sharing.

“Combeferre,” Feuilly speaks. Enjolras stands silently behind him.

“Yeah, I know.” He presses his forefinger and thumb into the corners of his eyes

“It’s a good plan.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I know you’re worried about all of us and that’s your job, but it’s Courfeyrac’s job, too. I don’t think he’s the person you knew in university anymore.”

Combeferre sighs. “He’s not. And he is. That’s the problem. I just . . .” He doesn’t know how to end that sentence.

“Hm.” Feuilly plops down on the bed next to him.

“Combeferre,” Enjolras’ voice is stern and Combeferre knows he’s in for a scolding.

“Hm?”

“You can’t go on a job with this baggage. It’s not safe.”

Combeferre tries to be dismissive. “I don’t have—”

“Don’t bullshit us, man,” Feuilly says. “We’re you’re oldest friends.”

He tries not to be exasperated and fails. “So what do you propose I do? Joly needs a second set of eyes in there and we need back-up to get out safely.”

“Those things are absolutely true,” Feuilly agrees.

“You have to talk to him,” Enjolras tells him. “You have to get whatever’s bothering you off of your chest.”

And Combeferre knows they’re right. He lets out another sigh. “We don’t have time for this.”

Feuilly reminds him, “And yet we are all human. We can’t function as effectively under pressure with something weighing on our minds, so you have to make time.”

\--

#### 2 Days Out

“Courfeyrac, can we take a walk?”

Courfeyrac turns from his view off of the patio and sees Combeferre standing in the doorframe.

“Um, I suppose. Lemme get my shoes.” He tries not to be nervous as he ties his laces.

The night air is much the same as it was during their last walk together. It’s warm and comforting, and a light breeze rustles through the few trees in an atmosphere of pavement and steel. It’s peaceful, especially for a man who grew up in the city, but Courfeyrac’s state of mind is anything but calm. He tries to think about what Combeferre could have to say this time. He hopes this isn’t a last-minute change to plans for the job because they really don’t have time for that at this point. But at the same time, though, Courfeyrac isn’t sure he wants to have another discussion like their one about Vergniaud XVII.

Once they’re a ways down the street, in the opposite direction from the way they went last time, Combeferre says, “I owe you an apology.”

That is not what Courfeyrac expected.

“For yesterday, I overreacted. I was just nervous.” If Courfeyrac didn’t know better, he’d say he was muttering. “And the coffee was really hot.”

Courfeyrac smirks. “I’m sorry I spilled hot coffee on you.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“Well. Once upon a time, you were right about it.”

“That’s not . . . that’s not what I’m trying to say.”

He stops and turns Courfeyrac to face him with a gentle but firm hand on his arm.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. It was based on a characterization of you which is obviously outdated. You’re a competent captain. Your crew respects and loves you. People across the galaxy know your name, and most of the ones who pay attention speak it kindly. You’re not who you were. Neither of us are.”

Courfeyrac nods. “I know.” But still, to hear someone he respects so much compliment him like this makes his cheeks a little warm.

“I’m trying to say . . . I respect you and I’m glad you offered my team and I this job.”

“Well,” Courfeyrac is a bit at a loss. He had not expected such a thorough apology for words which were, quite frankly, a fraction as ill-considered as some of the others they’d shared back in the day. “No worries, and I’m glad you accepted.”

Combeferre nods curtly and they start walking again.

His pace is slow, which means it’s gruelingly so for Courfeyrac. He can only do three blocks like that before he has to say something.

“Is there something else on your mind?”

Combeferre looks up at him in shock, then immediately looks back to the pavement. He swallows.

Courfeyrac turns back to face front, figuring Combeferre will say whatever it is when he’s ready. Courfeyrac looks up at the city lights above them, thinks about what kind of lives the people in those windows lead. He smells sweet buns again and wishes he knew which storefront was responsible.

After another long block, Combeferre lets out a long breath and says quietly, with grief lacing every syllable, “I thought you died, Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac is so surprised he nearly stops, but Combeferre is walking at such a leisurely pace it hardly matters. God, the other pedestrians must hate them.

“I thought you died, and . . . . And before this job is over . . . I promised myself that if I ever saw you again I would say this.” He stops again, pulling them into an alley to get out of the way.

With Combeferre’s hand still gripping his forearm, Courfeyrac has no choice but to face him. But even without Combeferre’s grip, Courfeyrac still thinks he wouldn’t be able to look away. Their nearly twenty years apart have marked him—marked them—in ways Courfeyrac could not have expected. Lines trace out from the corners of Combeferre’s eyes and there’s a small scar up by his eyebrow. The muscles of his face set his mouth to a frown where before, though small, his smiles had been easy. Most noticeably, he’s also grown into his presence, commanding the space around him in ways a 20-year-old never could.

But at least one thing has not changed. Combeferre’s gaze is intense. Courfeyrac is entranced, barely breathing, and would not want to move even if the alley had extra space for him to back into.

“I was wrong. Everything you said in undergrad was true, Courfeyrac, I just didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to help. I thought I could . . . I don’t know, change the system from the inside, even though you always said that was bullshit. I wanted peace to be brought peacefully. And you were just . . . so determined to get yourself killed doing all these things that—”

With that moment of Combeferre’s hesitation, the reverie is broken. Courfeyrac takes the momentary loosening of Combeferre’s grip as a chance to put his arm back down. “That didn’t matter?”

“No, I—”

“It’s okay you can say it. I was a child playing a god’s game. That’s why I left. I realized even the things I was doing were working too much within the system. I could never be taken seriously as the fiery upstart son of an honored senator. So I stopped being the fiery upstart son of an honored senator.” God, it feels good to say it out loud. To admit the mistakes of his past to someone who understood them.

Combeferre swallows. “The things you were doing did matter, Courfeyrac. They mattered so much, while I just sat back and took whatever the Republic gave me.”

“No, Combeferre, that’s not fair. You were saving lives.”

“I was saving my own life. Not like you. You were—and are—willing to sacrifice everything to make the galaxy a better place, and I respect that so much.” He pauses for a moment, holding Courfeyrac’s gaze. When he starts again, his voice is thick. ”You’re just . . . exactly the kind of person the galaxy could use more of. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you sooner. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help.”

Courfeyrac is quiet for a moment. He’s staring at a spot over Combeferre’s shoulder because he can’t look him in the eye. His heart is pounding. He doesn’t know how to say all the things he wants to say, how to express twenty years of wishing he’d handled the situation differently. And his throat is tight, so instead of speaking, just this once, he takes the easy way out. He smiles weakly and says, “Water under the bridge. Thank you, Combeferre.”

Courfeyrac pulls them back out onto the main road and they walk home in silence.

\--

#### 21 Years Out

Two weeks into his first year at university, Combeferre can’t quite say he’s gotten used to the bustle of the city. He still jumps every time a hover car breezes by the window and he still feels skittish crossing the street without a crosswalk.

The library, though. Libraries are the same in every city, on every planet, in every star system. The biggest library in the capitol somehow reminds him of the small one in his rural hometown. At the very fundamental level, of course, the stacks are the same, but there’s also the pillars out front and the large glass walls on the west side that showcase the sunset.

Because of the library’s partnership with the university, there is a section of dedicated study rooms in the southwest corner, and he was lucky enough to snag one today. He’d been in there all day, and a kind older librarian had lent him a cart after seeing him struggle to carry stacks and stacks of books into the room with him. Thankfully, she hadn’t asked if they were all relevant to his studies because they technically were not. He’d started out with that intention but kept seeing somewhat related subjects that also caught his eye. Every time he wandered out of the room, the relevance got more tenuous. But Combeferre isn’t worried. He has until midnight until his reservation runs out and probably until at least 7 a.m. until the next day’s occupant comes to claim it. Combeferre is confident he’d be able to get to all the books, or at least all of parts he cares most about, by then.

He’s taking a moment to enjoy the sunset after putting some books back on the cart, standing with his hand skimming over the tops of the bindings and his head turned to the window on his right.

He hears a knock behind him and turns.

“Hey.” It’s one of the students that lives in his building. A city kid and the son of some senator or another who’d lived in the capitol his whole life. At first Combeferre had assumed he’d just be a legacy here on daddy’s dime, but so far Courfeyrac has never failed to impress him with wit or vivacity or just the blatant goodness he shows to the other students in their building. He doesn’t know if he can call Courfeyrac a friend, but when Combeferre sees him, he can’t help but smile.

“Hi.”

“You’ve been here all day,” Courfeyrac is leaning on the open door, one foot propped up behind him and his hands in his pockets.

Combeferre laughs. “If you know that’s true, then you must’ve been here all day, too.”

Courfeyrac’s smile lights up his face, perhaps even his whole body. Combeferre briefly lets himself be captivated by it. “No comment. What’s so urgent in week two?”

“Pot, kettle,” Combeferre parries. “I could ask you the same question.”

Courfeyrac drops his eyes down to the floor and laughs. “Fine. I’m here doing research on historical precedent against H.R. 1463, which would reduce the required provisions for new colonies and settlement established by the Republic. Some friends and I are holding a rally next Thursday before the Senate meets to vote. We’re hoping to send all the Senators our main arguments ahead of time, so they know the people are angry and the courts will have just cause to strike down the motion.”

“You should be careful,” Combeferre warns him, sure he’s been warned before.

Courfeyrac bobs his head just once, kicking up from the wall behind him to move closer. “I’ll be as careful as I need to be. Now it’s your turn. I thought you were pre-med but I don’t see how —” He stops to pick up a book from the table. “— Understanding Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphics relates to medicine." He sets the book back exactly where it was.

It’s Combeferre’s turn to bashfully look at his feet. “I just like to read stuff. I might have . . . gotten a little carried away with my book selection today.”

Courfeyrac laughs, loud and bright. “So, you’re a nerd!”

Combeferre chuckles in return. “I am, I definitely am.”

“Well, speaking as somebody who’s also spent all day in the library, I’m delighted to find that out. And you got Sandy to lend you one of her carts, so you must also be charming. That’s rare for her.”

Combeferre feels his face heat up, but does his best to maintain eye contact. “Then I’ll be sure to be extra grateful.”

Courfeyrac breaks their gaze and looks out the window like he’s stealing himself for what he really wanted to say. “You should come.”

“To the rally? I—” Combeferre thinks about promising his mom he’d stay out of trouble. “I’ll have to think about it.” Courfeyrac has started walking toward him again.

“Okay. Maybe I could buy you a drink after.” Courfeyrac is standing so close to him now, and Combeferre can only think about closing the distance.

Instead, he swallows. “I think I would like that.”

This time, Courfeyrac’s smile is gentle, just barely moving his lips but completely filling his eyes. He takes another half-step forward and Combeferre happily meets him in the middle.

Courfeyrac’s lips meet his, gentle and firm. As his eyes flutter shut and his hand reaches out for Courfeyrac’s cheek, warmth fills Combeferre’s chest and a lightness spreads down through his legs.

In the end, Combeferre’s professor moves the test date up so he has to spend all day that Thursday studying. When he doesn’t show, Courfeyrac forgets about their encounter in the library, but Combeferre never can.


	5. Day Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEIST HEIST HEIST HEIST

#### 5 Hours Out

The rental house, on the morning of the heist, is absolutely silent. They made a point to rest and relax all day yesterday, and Combeferre had even let himself sleep in today. But he wakes to the sound of Enjolras meticulously cleaning all his weapons, and now it’s time to focus on the task at hand. Stations C and J will be equidistant from their current location at approximately 14:37, and Courfeyrac wants them all in the air at 14:00.

As Combeferre walks down to breakfast, he sees groups of people clustered in their rooms and in the common areas like vignettes of their lives. On the back porch, Courfeyrac, Cosette, and R are doing a stretching routine. Eponine and Marius are quizzing each other on protocol and backup plans at the end of the hall. In their room, Joly is reviewing notes and Bossuet is giving Musichetta a hand massage. When their eyes meet, Joly nods and starts gathering his notes.

Combeferre reaches the kitchen, and greets Bahorel, who is cutting up the last of the fruit from the market.

Between slicing the rinds off some melons, he speaks, “Feuilly threatened anyone who touched the last of the protein waffles with horrific dismemberment, so they’re still waiting for you under the foil.”

“Good man,” Combeferre says, peeling back the tin to two perfectly crispy and warm waffles.

“Are you ready for today?” Joly asks, sitting at the table with his notes.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Bahorel admits. “I’ll leave you to it, but first, some melon for our scientists.” He scoops at least a third of the melon onto a separate plate and gives it to Joly.

Combeferre joins Joly at the table with his waffles and some blueberry syrup. “You ready for one last review?” he asks.

“Let’s do it.” Joly hands him some of the notes and they begin.

\--

#### 00 Minutes Out

From opposite sides of the city right before 14:00, both teams’ cover stories for flight clearance pass muster and they launch.

All the way up to Station C, Joly and Combeferre run through the turns and directions they’ll take based on the ship schematics Eponine supplied. Seated on the other side of the docking bay, Courfeyrac and R are stretching and triple-checking their guns. They’re all in the air. They all have their equipment. Comm links are established. All that’s left to do is dock at the station.

“Check, check, can everyone hear me? B-Team, sound off.” Marius says in his ear.

There’s a moment of silence over the radio.

“And, A-Team, sound off.” Alphabetically, as instructed when they were still on-planet, the four people in the room sound off their code names one by one.

“Perfect,” Marius says. “Just a reminder that you obviously won’t be able to hear each other. This way everyone can focus on what’s in front of them. Everyone report to me as necessary, and I’ll relay any necessary information on to the rest of the group. Remember, A-Team, your goal is to go unnoticed. B-Team, your goal is to be as noticed as possible once you’ve achieved your objective. B-Team, are you in position?”

Silence.

“Go.” Somewhere, Eponine, Enjolras, and Bahorel begin their covert infiltration into Station J.

“A-Team, prep for landing.”

The engines of the _Grace_ shift their tone to one that Combeferre recognizes as slowing down to dock. The four of them in the room go quiet. Eventually, there is a thunk, a click, and a hiss, and the doors open to the station docking bay.

“A-Team, go.”

So they do. At the end of the hall, with a few quick taps, Courfeyrac enters the daily key code Eponine had found that morning and they’re in the main corridor.

“In,” he tells Marius.

They move with silent efficiency through the pattern they had all memorized over the last few weeks. Past three doors, right, left, two doors, left, and they’re at a stairwell.

“Going down, as planned. No crew seen,” Joly says into the commlink, and they start the descent. They could’ve taken the elevator, but the stairs offered more visibility and control, reduced risk of surprise exposure to the maintenance personnel, and removed the potential the for MWR security to get a ping from the electronic system running the station.

As they descend the stairs, their boots all fall into a rhythm. They move in a square as one body down one, two, three, four flights of stairs before Courfeyrac raises a hand to stop them in front of the door to Level 6. The lab they’re looking for is on Level 3.

Combeferre makes an inquisitive expression. Courfeyrac taps the ear without a comm in it.

“B-Team reached main console. Wolf-Daughter starting objective,” Marius says. He hesitates. “A-Team, your heat signatures aren’t moving, everything good?”

Courfeyrac still has his hand up, and with the other he pulls out his gun. “Thought I heard footsteps,” he whispers into the comm. “We’ll proceed.”

He gestures and they all crouch past the window and resume their descent.

“A-Team, three floors to go,” Marius reminds them.

“Affirmative,” Courfeyrac responds.

A few seconds later, they hear a rush of static, then Marius says, “Shit, Code Black, from docking.”

“Um,” R questions.

Courfeyrac’s eyes have gone wide and he’s stopped again. Combeferre turns and sees that Joly’s face is pale.

“No comms,” Courfeyrac says. “Either we’ve been hacked, or the _Grace_ has been made. We assume the MWR knows we’re here and everything we’ve said over comms from the second we stepped off the ship.”

“Shit,” R curses, and readies his gun.

“Keep going.” As they go down the last two flights of stairs, Courfeyrac keeps talking, “They’ll know what floor we’re going to, but not what lab. We assume they’ll have time to place guards. R, since the stairwell opens at the end of a hall, you’ll hide behind the door, I’ll accompany these two the rest of the way. If you see anyone and don’t have the shot to take them yourself, tell us the number on our way in code over the comm. Then follow discreetly and we’ll take them from both sides.”

“Got it.”

They reach their floor, and Courfeyrac punches in a code. As they wait for the light to turn green and hope the MWR hasn’t pushed out new passcodes, a millisecond takes an eternity. Combeferre and Courfeyrac sigh in relief together. As the other three advance, R props open the stairwell doors and slips behind it.

Courfeyrac is watching for soldiers in front of them and Combeferre is watching behind them but they all have their guns out now. Combeferre focuses on evening out his breaths and lets Courfeyrac lead them on the pattern they memorized. He tries not to think about Enjolras and Bahorel on Station J, or about Jehan and Feuilly aboard the _Grace_.

His heart pounds and his mind races, but he times his breaths with his steps like he’s just out for a run. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four. Their feet take what’s left of the team to where the hallways intersect, then right, two doors down, left, three doors down, and suddenly Courfeyrac is kneeling in front of another keypad.

The light flips to green, and they’re inside. “You have fifteen minutes. I’ll guard the corridor and keep them away from you for as long as possible.”

Joly heads for the vials and Combeferre heads for the server interface.

\--

About seven minutes have passed, by Courfeyrac’s watch. No sign of Combeferre and Joly emerging, but they still have time. “Lord of the Rings books,” R says from the comm.

“What?”

“You didn’t specify what kind of code, my dude.”

Oh, so it’s a number. There’s three books. Three soldiers on their way.

“Never mind. Neutralized.”

Okay, then. Courfeyrac lets out his breath, and focuses back on listening to his surroundings. The jingle of keys, the clunk of boots, the whir of an elevator, anything. It’s silent. Thinking of Joly and Combeferre, he considers ducking back down the hallway to triple check that none of the other doors have connections to other parts of the station.

A few more minutes pass like this. Courfeyrac occasionally stretches to keep his knees from locking up or his muscles from tightening.

“The Labors of Hercules.”

“Why would I know that, dude?”

“Read more.”

Courfeyrac splutters.

“Face cards in a deck, bud,” Joly takes pity on him.

“Focus on your job,” Courfeyrac snips into the microphone.

“Right-o.” Joly is definitely laughing at him.

That’s twelve soldiers. Twelve is a lot. He’ll need to see them first. He turns so he’s facing the side of the corridor they’ll come from. This puts his back to the other side, but he’ll keep an ear out.

They’re probably about two minutes out, and he’d promised Combeferre and Joly five more minutes. He can do this. Especially for Combeferre. And Joly.

Of course, Joly is his friend and he would do anything to keep him safe. But his thoughts stray back to that conversation two nights ago. When Combeferre looked deep into his eyes and said he respected him, not once but three times. He’d practically said he’d missed him.

God, when Courfeyrac instigated this job, he hadn’t in a million years expected that. He remembers the sincerity in Combeferre’s eyes and the exact expression on his face when he’d said Courfeyrac was _exactly the kind of person the galaxy could use more of._ Courfeyrac’s heart pounds, and not because of the heist.

He hears a scuffle behind him and realizes he’d let his mind stray. He whips around just in time to see Combeferre in the part of the hallway that’d been out of Courfeyrac’s vision, wrestling a soldier so that he’s holding him pinned with the man’s back to his chest.

Without hesitation, before the soldier can scream, Combeferre drags a short knife across his throat. As he expertly slices through the second carotid artery, blood splatters on Combeferre’s glove and onto the floor between them. The soldier’s knife clatters to the floor.

His motions were practiced and efficient, but in that second, Courfeyrac had seen the worry and determination in his eyes. Courfeyrac’s heart pounds.

“Combeferre,” he whispers, barely a breath, and Combeferre’s breath heaves.

He lowers the body against the wall, but Courfeyrac is frozen still.

Combeferre steps forward and puts a comforting hand on his chest. “Are you all right?” The warmth of his touch spreads pleasantly.

Courfeyrac’s heart pounds for reasons entirely unrelated to the body on the floor, and he hopes Combeferre can’t feel it. “Yeah.”

They step further into the smaller corridor, and Joly joins them.

Courfeyrac regains his bearings. “Twelve on the way. R’s following them. You guys get everything?”

“Yeah,” Joly says. “Here’s your share to carry.”

Courfeyrac stuffs the extra vials and data sticks into his pockets. These are just backups in case he’s the only one to make it back. The rest are packed carefully in Combeferre and Joly’s bags.

“We have to get the message back to R to meet us at the ship,” Courfeyrac says.

“Linguistics specialist,” Combeferre replies.

“What?”

Combeferre puts his hand to his comm and says something long and flowery in a language Courfeyrac has never heard. Then, he looks to Courfeyrac and Joly and says, “Let’s go.”

\--

They get back to the _Grace_ and Marius is pacing in front of the open bay doors.

“Finally,” he says when he sees them come into the docking bay. “Get in.”

They sprint onto the ship, and Marius hits the in-ship communicator and says, “They’re in. Go.”

The doors hiss shut. The _Grace_ rumbles underneath them, undocks, and flies away.

“Can they hear us?” is the first thing Joly says.

“Not as far as we can tell. There was a bug built into their network so that any wireless communication within range of the station was intercepted.”

“Fuck,” R says, panting from their race back to the ship.

“Yeah.”

“And, the _Moonshine_?” Courfeyrac asks.

Marius smiles. “In the clear. Objective completed without a hitch. Got the message to us about five minutes ago. We’re on our way to meet them at the rendezvous now.”

Combeferre lets out a breath in relief as he feels the ship jump to hyperspeed.


	6. High Noon and Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The teams deliver the goods to Simplice, and she throws them a bit of a party for their troubles.

#### 2 Days After

In the end, they agree the two captains should go down with Cosette to meet Simplice. Courfeyrac likes to meet the people he helps, and it would be unjust to not also have the _Grace_ represented. Of course, the Combeferre Courfeyrac knows isn’t the one that joins the away team.

“Enjolras,” he says. He really should not be surprised. Much less disappointed.

“Good morning, Courfeyrac.” His gait is lighter and his face brighter than Courfeyrac has grown used to.

“You’re looking unusually chipper today.”

“And you’re looking unusually dour.”

Courfeyrac is not going to touch that. “What’s with the mood?”

A very small smile graces Enjolras’ face as the bay doors open to a desert planet. “We did a good thing this week.”

Courfeyrac cannot disagree. He finds himself with a smile to match Enjolras’. When Cosette arrives, they mount jet bikes to flank hers and take off for the rendezvous.

Only Cosette and Marius know the location, so she leads the whole way there. The sun beats pleasantly down on Courfeyrac through his leathers and he revels in the moment where he is not in charge. He watches Cosette’s bike kick up dust clouds and feels their velocity in his stomach.

All too soon, Cosette is pulling into a small space enclosed on all sides by plateaus or boulders. With one opening on either end for each party to enter, the whole arrangement looks a bit like a stadium floor.

She takes off her helmet and checks her watch. “Two minutes until noon, twelve until we assume trouble.”

“We made good time,” Enjolras comments.

She grins. “That we did, Combeferre.” Cosette pulls the steel box containing the vials and memory sticks out of her saddlebag and they walk to the middle of the clearing together in peaceful silence. They stop right in the middle of the clearing, as agreed, with one captain on each side of Cosette.

As the sun reaches its highest point in the sky, an old dune buggy rolls into the clearing. Simplice and her crew pull in right on time. In the distance, Courfeyrac can see that she is just old and thin enough that a passerby might think she were frail if it weren’t for the determined set to her shoulders and the careful gaze she puts on both Enjolras and Courfeyrac in turn as her vehicle slowly makes its way to the center of the clearing.

Her eyes settle on Cosette’s after she gets off the buggy and her face lights up. “Hello, dear.”

Cosette’s face goes from blank to a full, childish grin in a microsecond. “Hello, auntie. Hello, Fauchelevent and Toussaint,” she addresses the two people standing behind Simplice, mirroring the two allies behind Cosette. Each of them smiles back at her.

“It went smoothly, I hope?” Simplice asks.

“Like wax down a candlestick,” Cosette responds. “And how are things here?”

“I can’t lie,” she starts robotically, almost out of rote, “but if I did I’d say they’ve been uneventful. Come hug me.”

She hadn’t needed to say that, because as soon as the first sentence was finished Cosette was already closing the distance between them and passing the box to the woman on the left. But still, Courfeyrac assumes it was nice to hear.

The hug breaks and Cosette turns to the woman now holding the vials. “Toussaint, I’m surprised to see you. Is Papa here?”

“No, he’s on another pilgrimage to some holy site or other. He expects full details on your health and happiness when he returns.”

“Of course,” Cosette replies. “Auntie S, please meet the great Captains Courfeyrac and Combeferre.”

“Oh, please,” Courfeyrac blows off the compliment. “It’s an honor to meet you, Simplice.” He shakes her hand earnestly.

“Thank you for all the work you do,” Enjolras says, in his excellent impression of Combeferre. His handshake is all business.

“Do either of your crews have somewhere to be soon? Or any reason to believe you’re being tracked? You’ve done so much for us and for the residents of Danton, we’d love to invite you all to dinner and a perhaps a night’s rest off-ship now that we’ve confirmed you are who you say you are.”

“Confirmed?” Enjolras starts.

Simplice touches her finger to the side of her nose. “No harm in a few code words between friends.” Apparently, Enjolras thinks normal people normally bring candlesticks up in conversation in the 32nd century.

“We’d love to, Simplice,” Courfeyrac laughs as a surprised and pleased look crosses Enjolras’ face. “Marius was distraught at the prospect of coming all the way to you and not tasting your stew.”

Simplice laughs, open and full. “Don’t tease him. He’ll eat anything a relative of Cosette’s gives him and I know those spices nearly set him on fire last time.”

“I can’t speak for my whole crew,” Enjolras cuts in, “but I’m sure some of us would love an evening off the ship.”

With that, they agree on a time to meet at Simplice’s bunker and part ways.

“The crews get along quite well,” Enjolras says hesitantly as they watch their hosts for the evening roll away. “I’m sure they won’t begrudge a delay in our next plans for some celebrations.”

“Hm, yeah. Joly will miss Combeferre when we split up.”

Enjolras looks at him askance, not falling for it for a second. “I’m sure they will see each other again soon. This goodbye does not have to be a final one.”

“As if,” Courfeyrac snorts. “I do not expect the leader of the _Grace_ to want to work with me again in the near future. I’m sure he’s had enough of me stressing him out for at least a few years.”

Enjolras doesn’t take his eyes of Courfeyrac while Simplice and the buggy slip around the corner.

“Perhaps you should discuss that with him.” He calmly turns back to the bikes and Courfeyrac’s stomach flips.

Before he has time to process whatever that means, Enjolras and Cosette are already halfway ready to leave and Courfeyrac has to run to catch up.

On the ride back, Courfeyrac thinks about a firm hand over his chest and a confession whispered in the Diogenian night.

\--

Perhaps the crew member most excited for the party was Bahorel, who honest-to-god wahoo’ed when Courfeyrac told the news to the crewmembers gathered and waiting outside their ships.

By the time Courfeyrac scrubs the grit from the ride out of his skin and takes a moment to soak away some of the stress from the week, it’s time to go. Musichetta has already brought the ship closer to the town, and Jehan has parked the _Grace_ right next to her.

Courfeyrac tries to enjoy the party. He really does. Anyone will tell you that Courfeyrac is not one to waste a good party. And it is a lovely party. Simplice went all out with fairy lights on the back deck of the town pub and spaceheaters farther from the dance floor to keep off the cold of the desert night. There’s even real fruit juice as a mixer, even though Cosette tried to protest that the town should save it. Courfeyrac has never had a more perfect tequila sunrise in his life.

But every time he sees a member of his crew laughing with a member of Combeferre’s, he feels a twinge in his heart. At one point, from the dancefloor, he sees Combeferre and Simplice talking, undoubtedly about remaking the vaccine. His face is full of passion and excitement, and the twinge in Courfeyrac’s heart turns into a tug.

After that, he has to go sit down. Since he’s worked up a sweat from dancing, he finds a half-wall away from the crowd and swings his legs over it. The sunset is beautiful. The reds and yellows paint the sky with a fire reminiscent of the daytime heat, while streaks of purple remind the viewer that the soft blanket of night is coming. He’s fanning himself with a napkin and staring into the horizon when he hears a voice to his right.

“Well, hello there.” It’s Combeferre. Because of course it is.

“Oh, hi.”

“Getting too old to dance at parties?”

Courfeyrac’s bark of laughter is entirely involuntary. “As if. If my crew love me at all, they’ll throw a party after my funeral and I’ll dance there, too.”

Combeferre chuckles. “I’ll make sure they know.”

“Oh, it’s in the will,” Courfeyrac jokes, and Combeferre’s responding peal of laughter is like a balm on Courfeyrac’s soul.

It’s quiet a moment, until Courfeyrac says, “I just needed some air.”

Combeferre nods. “Yeah, it’s, uh. It’s been a long two weeks.”

“Yeah.” And he can’t leave it there, so a hopeful voice in his mind urges him to say, “But good ones.”

The corners of Combeferre’s eyes wrinkle, and he repeats, “But good ones.”

Their gazes meet and, in that moment, Courfeyrac feels with his whole heart how much he doesn’t want to part ways.

Suddenly, Combeferre clears his throat, looks away briefly, and starts talking about work again. “So, next time you need two ships for something . . . let me know.”

Courfeyrac immediately starts inventing jobs that require two ships, as they look into each other’s eyes for another long minute.

Then Combeferre blinks, and the instant that gaze is off of him, Courfeyrac realizes that he physically cannot leave this planet until he knows when he’ll see him again. But Combeferre is already standing.

Courfeyrac shoots his hand out and grabs Combeferre by the bicep. He sits back down immediately.

“Um. I mean. Even if we didn’t need two ships, we could still collaborate on stuff. A lot of jobs could benefit from a combination of the _Grace’_ s speed, and your medical background, and Eponine’s hacking, and—” he waves a hand in the air “—I don’t know, my . . . gumption.”

Combeferre laughs.

“We’re a very well-balanced group!”

“Yes, we are.”

“I’m just saying that I don’t want to—I mean we don’t necessarily need to—part ways until another once-in-a-lifetime job comes up.” At this point, the brain-to-mouth filter is completely gone and he’s just saying whatever he needs to so that Combeferre will stay. “There are all kinds of things we could do together. We’re unlimited! Think of all the possibilities. We could steal more vaccines for fair distribution, or help refugees get off underfed and underserved planets, or sabotage some MWR military bases pretty effectively with our combined skills.“ He trails off, thinking about how that last one is actually a really good idea.

“And maybe our crews could also meet up for some vacation time occasionally.” There’s still a smile on Combeferre’s lips.

“Ye- yes! Yes, that’s exactly what I’m talking about, I mean, we—they—really get along and it seems unfair that they shouldn’t get to see each other because I am such a pain in the ass, really.”

Combeferre is full-body laughing now, his shoulders heaving with it and his hand covering his face. When he looks up, his eyes are shining with joy.

“Why are you laughing at me? These are valid points.”

“Courfeyrac, I thought you were supposed to be the smooth-talking one.”

“Me? I’m very smooth-talking what are you saying.”

“Courfeyrac?” The laughter is gone from his eyes, but now they shine with something Courfeyrac can’t place.

It is suddenly very quiet. “Yes?”

“You _are_ a pain in the ass and I’m in love with you.”

Courfeyrac’s heart pounds. “With m-?”

“Yes, Courfeyrac. Who else?” Combeferre is breathless, and Courfeyrac sees in Combeferre’s eyes the longing that he recognizes from the mirror. “Who else could compare to you? You’re smart, and brave, and caring, and talented, and kind. You are so good, both at what you do and in who you are, and I am . . . lost. I love you, and I respect you, and I would spend every day beside you if I could.” He swallows and looks down at his hands.

Courfeyrac turns fully towards him. “Oh, Combeferre,” he says and reaches for his hands, but Combeferre misinterprets his tone and flinches. “Look at me.”

He does, and the two of them wrap their hands together.

“Combeferre, I have something to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“There are actually a lot of smugglers and outlaws with medical degrees.”

“What?”

“Yeah, there’s like a shit ton. The MWR medical service really sucks and a lot of people get fed up.”

“That makes sense.” Combeferre looks confused, possibly for the first time in Courfeyrac’s memory.

“My point is I didn’t need to find the _Grace_ for this job. While the _Grace_ is an amazing ship, there are probably six other captains with decent ships I could’ve reached out to and then had much more time to prepare with them.”

“Oh.”

“But I didn’t want to work with them, I wanted to work with you. I thought . . . I thought if I didn’t take this chance to reach out to you, and with an actual, legitimate reason, then I would never get another chance. And I just couldn’t let that go.”

Courfeyrac fixes his gaze at their clasped hands. Combeferre’s grip feels warm and safe. His skin is not soft from so many years of working on a spaceship, but his touch is gentle.

“When I left the capitol, I had about an hour to get all my shit together and leave before I missed my chance to get off-planet unnoticed. I didn’t have time to contact anyone, and letting anyone know where I was after that would have put them in danger. Apart from my mother and my sisters, you were the only person I was upset about leaving behind. Even though we disagreed all the time, I always came away from those discussions feeling like I’d learned something. You were—are—inspiring. And after I left, I spent so many nights laying awake trying to figure out how to get a message to you.

“And then . . .,” Courfeyrac hears his own voice grow sad. "Time and distance did their thing, and I convinced myself you were better off without me. A few years later, I saw your name in the headlines, how you skipped off the planet and stole a ship in the middle of a riot, how you were sabotaging MWR efforts while still helping the sick, and I felt such hope that I’d run into you or maybe find out we had a mutual contact, but I never did.” He pauses to swallow.

“The second Eponine said we’d need a second ship and Joly said he’d need backup on Station C, I thought of you. Joly had come prepped with a list of our contacts which might be a good fit, but I knew I had to do everything in my power to get you on that job with us.”

“So what you’re saying is you deliberately put off strategizing and training for a job, potentially leaving your crew underprepared for a dangerous heist, all because you wanted an excuse to talk to me.”

“Oh, don’t give me that, all the strategizing was done by the time you got there. You know I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think everyone involved was prepared. We did lots of research.”

“Bahorel still wants to know how Eponine got onto our system, by the way.”

“Maybe she’ll tell him if they’re more permanently working on the same team.”

“Oh, really, you think she’d share her secrets?”

“I mean, there’s always a chance she’ll feel magnanimous.”

With each sentence since he stopped monologuing, he and Combeferre have been leaning a little closer together. When Combeferre huffs, Courfeyrac feels the breath on his face. They’re merely inches apart and Courfeyrac is in raptures at the beauty of the man meeting his gaze. Then, Combeferre speaks.

“So, is there something you’d like to ask me?”

“Hm. Combeferre, would you like to roam across the galaxy with me, sabotaging the government, helping the needy, and inciting rebellion as we go?”

“I would love nothing more.”

Courfeyrac’s whole face breaks into a smile before he can lean forward and close the gap between them.

When their lips meet, the warmth of it suffuses throughout Courfeyrac’s body. Combeferre removes a hand from his grip to rest it on Courfeyrac’s cheek, and a shiver runs down his spine. Courfeyrac could bask in the warmth forever, but that gentle touch almost brings up a memory.

“Hm,” Courfeyrac pulls back. “We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we were in the library.”

He gasps. “I knew you wouldn’t leave behind your transmitter. I can’t believe I forgot we kissed in a library.”

“Hm, I forgive you,” Combeferre says as they lean back in.

When they split for the second time, Courfeyrac whispers, “Hey, Combeferre?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

Combeferre’s face lights up, and Courfeyrac doesn’t even think of trying to stop himself from returning the smile.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Now, here at the end of the fic, I can finally tell you that the Moonshine and the Grace are named after my dog and my roommate's cat, respectively, because naming things is hard and also they deserve it.
> 
> Also, title is based on a lyric from from Magnets by Disclosure ft. Lord, coincidentally the only song on both my Combeferre and my Courfeyrac playlist.


End file.
